XIV
THE LAY OF THE THORN
Whosoever counts these Lays as fable, may be assured that I am not ofhis mind. The dead and past stories that I have told again in diversfashions, are not set down without authority. The chronicles of thesefar off times are yet preserved in the land. They may be read by thecurious at Caerleon, or in the monastery of St. Aaron. They may beheard in Brittany, and in many another realm besides. To prove howthe remembrance of such tales endures, I will now relate to you theadventure of the Two Children, making clear what has remained hiddento this very hour.
In Brittany there lived a prince, high of spirit, fair of person,courteous and kind to all. This Childe was a King's son, and therewere none to cherish him but his father and his father's wife, forhis mother was dead. The King held him dearer than aught else in theworld, and close he was to the lady's heart. The lady, for her part,had a daughter by another husband than the King. Very dainty was themaiden, sweet of colour and of face, passing young and fair. Boththese children, born to so high estate, were right tender of age, forthe varlet, who was the elder of the twain, was but seven years. Thetwo children loved together very sweetly. Nothing seemed of worth toone, if it were not shared with the other. They were nourished at thesame table, went their ways together, and lived side by side. Theguardians who held them in ward, seeing their great love, made noeffort to put them apart, but allowed them to have all things incommon. The love of these children increased with their years, butDame Nature brought another love to youth and maid than she gave tothe child. They delighted no more in their old frolic and play. Suchsport gave place to clasp and kisses, to many words, and to longsilences. To savour their friendship they took refuge in an attic ofthe keep, but all the years they had passed together, made the newlove flower more sweetly in their hearts, as each knew well. Very pureand tender was their love, and good would it have been if they couldhave hidden it from their fellows. This might not be, for in no greatwhile they were spied upon, and seen.
It chanced upon a day that this prince, so young and debonair, camehome from the river with an aching head, by reason of the heat. Heentered in a chamber, and shutting out the noise and clamour, layupon his bed, to ease his pain. The Queen was with her daughter in achamber, instructing her meetly in that which it becomes a maid toknow. Closer to a damsel's heart is her lover than her kin. So soon asshe heard that her friend was come again to the house, she stole forthfrom her mother, without saying word to any, and accompanied by none,went straight to the chamber where he slept. The prince welcomed hergladly, for they had not met together that day. The lady, who thoughtno wrong, condoled with him in his sickness, and of her sweetness gavehim a hundred kisses to soothe his hurt. Too swiftly sped the timein this fashion. Presently the Queen noticed that the damsel was nolonger with her at her task. She rose to her feet, and going quicklyto the chamber of the prince, entered therein without call or knock,for the door was unfastened on the latch. When the Queen saw these twolovers fondly laced in each other's arms, she knew and was certifiedof their love. Right wrathful was the Queen. She caught the maidenby the wrist, and shut her fast in her room. She prayed the King togovern his son more strictly, and to hold him in such ward about theCourt that he might get no speech with the damsel. Since he could haveneither sight nor word of his friend, save only the sound of weepingfrom her chamber, the prince determined to tarry no further in thepalace. He sought his father the self-same hour, and showed him whatwas in his mind.
"Sire," said he, "I crave a gift. If it pleases you to be a father toyour son, make me now a knight. I desire to seek another realm, and toserve some prince for guerdon. The road calls me, for many a knighthas won much riches with his sword."
The King did not refuse the lad's request, but accorded it should beeven as he wished. He prayed the prince to dwell for a year about theCourt, that he might the more readily assist at such tourneys andfollow such feats of arms as were proclaimed in the kingdom. This theprince agreed to do--the more readily because there was nothing elseto be done. He remained therefore at the Court, moving ever by hisfather's side. The maiden, for her part, was in the charge of hermother, who reproached her always for that she had done amiss. TheQueen did not content herself with reproaches and threats. She usedthe sharp discipline upon her, so that the maiden suffered grievouslyin her person. Sick at heart was the varlet whilst he hearkened to thebeatings, the discipline and the chastisement wherewith her mothercorrected the damsel. He knew not what to do, for well he understoodthat his was the fault, and that by reason of him was her neck boweddown in her youth. More and more was he tormented because of hisfriend.
More and more the stripes with which she was afflicted became heavierfor him to bear. He shut himself close within his chamber, and makingfast the door, gave his heart over to tears.
"Alas," cried he, "what shall I do! How may the ill be cured that Ihave brought on us by my lightness and folly! I love her more thanlife, and, certes, if I may not have my friend I will prove that I candie for her, though I cannot live without her."
Whilst the prince made this lamentation, the Queen came before theKing.
"Sir," said she, "I pledge my oath and word as a crowned lady that Ikeep my daughter as strictly as I may. Think to your own son, and seeto it that he cannot set eyes on the maid. He considers none otherthing but how to get clasp and speech of his friend."
For this reason the King guarded his son about the Court as closely asthe Queen held the maiden in her chamber. So vigilant was the watchthat these pitiful lovers might never have word together. They had noleisure to meet; they never looked one on the other; nor heard tidingsof how they did, whether by letter or by sergeant.
They lived this death in life till the same year--eight days beforethe Feast of St. John--the varlet was dubbed knight. The King spentthe day in the chase, and returning, brought with him great store offowl and venison that he had taken. After supper, when the tables wereremoved, the King seated himself for his delight upon a carpet spreadbefore the dais, his son and many a courteous lord with him. The faircompany gave ear to the Lay of Alys, sweetly sung by a minstrel fromIreland, to the music of his rote. When his story was ended, forthwithhe commenced another, and related the Lay of Orpheus; none being sobold as to disturb the singer, or to let his mind wander from thesong. Afterwards the knights spoke together amongst themselves. Theytold of adventures which in ancient days had chanced to many, and werenoised about Brittany. Amongst these lords sat a damsel, passing sweetof tongue. In her turn she told of a certain adventure which awaitedthe adventurous at the Ford of the Thorn, once every year, on thevigil of St. John, "but much I doubt whether now there be knightsso bold as to dare the perils of that passage." When the newly madeknight heard these words his pride quickened within him. He consideredthat although he was belted with the sword, he had as yet done no deedto prove his courage in the eyes of men. He deemed the time had cometo show his hardihood, and to put to silence the malicious lips. Hestood upon his feet, calling upon damsel, King and barons to hearkento his voice, and spake out manfully in the ears of great and small.
"Lords," cried he, "whatever says the maiden, I boast before you allthat on St. John's Eve I will ride alone to the Ford of the Thorn, anddare this adventure, whether it bring me gain or whether it bring meloss."
The King was right heavy to hear these words. He thought them to bethe gab and idle speech of a boy.
"Fair son," said he, "put this folly from your mind."
But when the King was persuaded that whether it were foolishness orwisdom the lad was determined to go his way, and abide the issue ofthe adventure,
"Go swiftly," said he, "in the care of God. Since risk your life youmust, play it boldly like a pawn, and may God grant you heart's desireand happy hours."
The self-same night, whilst the lad lay sleeping in his bed, thatfair lady, his friend, was in much unrest in hers. The tidings of herlover's boast had been carried quickly to her chamber, and sorely wasshe adread for what might chance. When the Eve of St. John was come,and the day drew towards evening, the varlet, with all fair hopes,made him ready to ride to the Ford Adventurous. He had clad himselffrom basnet to shoes in steel, and mounted on a strong destrier, wenthis road to essay the Passage of the Thorn. Whilst he took his paththe maiden took hers. She went furtively to the orchard, that shemight importune God to bring her friend again, safe and sound to hisown house. She seated herself on the roots of a tree, and with sighsand tears lamented her piteous case.
"Father of Heaven," said the girl, "Who was and ever shall be, bepitiful to my prayer. Since it is not to Thy will that any man shouldbe wretched, be merciful to a most unhappy maid. Fair Sire, give backthe days that are gone, when my friend was at my side, and grant thatonce again I may be with him. Lord God of Hosts, when shall I behealed? None knows the bitterness of my sorrow, for none may tastethereof, save such as set their heart on what they may not have. Theseonly, Lord, know the wormwood and the gall."
Thus prayed the maiden, seated on the roots of that ancient tree, herfeet upon the tender grass. At the time of her orisons much was shesought and inquired after in the palace, but none might find where shehad hidden. The damsel herself was given over altogether to her loveand her sorrow, and had no thought for anything, save for prayers andtears. The night wore through, and dawn already laced the sky, whenshe fell on a little slumber, in the tree where she was sheltered. Shewoke with a start, but returned to her sleep more deeply than before.She had not slept long, when herseemed she was ravished from thetree--but I cannot make this plain for I know no wizardry--to thatFord of the Thorn, where her friend and lover had repaired. The knightlooked upon the sleeping maiden, and marvelled at so fair a sight. Alladread was the lady when she came from her slumber, for she knew notwhere she lay, and wondered greatly. She covered her head by reason ofher exceeding fear, but the knight consoled her courteously.
"Diva," said he, "there is no reason for terror. If you are an earthlywoman, speaking with a mortal tongue, tell me your story. Tell me inwhat guise and manner you came so suddenly to this secret place."
The maiden began to be of more courage, till she remembered that shewas no longer in the orchard of the castle. She inquired of the knightto what haunt she had come.
"Lady," he made answer, "you are laid at the Ford of the Thorn, whereadventures chance to the seeker, sometimes greatly against the mind,and sometimes altogether according to the heart."
"Ah, dear God," cried the lady, "now shall I be made whole. Sir, looka little closer upon me, for I have been your friend. Thanks be toGod, who so soon has heard my prayer."
This was the beginning of adventures which happened that night to theseeker. The maiden hastened to embrace her lover. He got him nimblyfrom his horse, and taking her softly between his arms, kissed herwith more kisses than I can tell. Then they sat together beneath thethorn, and the damsel told how she fell asleep within that old tree inthe pleasaunce, of how she was rapt from thence in her slumber, and ofhow, yet sleeping, he came upon her by the Ford. When the knight hadhearkened to all that she had to say, he looked from her face, andglancing across the river, marked a lord, with lifted lance, ridingto the ford. This knight wore harness of a fair vermeil colour, andbestrode a horse white of body, save for his two ears, which were redas the rider's mail. Slender of girdle was this knight, and he made noeffort to enter the river, but drew rein upon the other side of thepassage, and watched. The varlet said to his friend that it becamehis honour to essay some feats of arms with this adversary. He got tohorse, and rode to the river, leaving the maiden beneath the thorn.Had she but found another horse at need, very surely would she haveridden to his aid. The two knights drew together as swiftly as theirsteeds could bear them. They thrust so shrewdly with the lance, thattheir shields were split and broken. The spears splintered in thegauntlet, and both champions were unhorsed by the shock, rolling onthe sand; but nothing worse happened to them. Since they had neithersquire nor companion to help them on their feet, they pained themgrievously to get them from the ground. When they might climb upontheir steeds, they hung again the buckler about the neck, and loweredtheir ashen spears. Passing heavy was the varlet, for shame that hisfriend had seen him thrown. The two champions met together in theonset, but the prince struck his adversary so cunningly with thelance, that the laces of his buckler were broken, and the shield fellfrom his body. When the varlet saw this he rejoiced greatly, for heknew that the eyes of his friend were upon him. He pressed his quarrelright fiercely, and tumbling his foe from the saddle, seized his horseby the bridle.[2]
The two knights passed the ford, and the prince feared sorely becauseof the skill and mightiness of his adversary. He could not doubt thatif they fell upon him together he would perish at their hands. He putthe thought from mind, for he would not suspect them of conduct sounbecoming to gentle knight, and so contrary to the laws of chivalry.If they desired some passage of arms, doubtless they would joust asgentlemen, and each for himself alone. When these three knights weremounted on their steeds, they crossed the ford with courtesy andorder, each seeking to give precedence to his companion. Having cometo the bank the stranger knights prayed the prince to run a course fortheir pleasure. He answered that it was his wish, too, and made himready for the battle. The prince rejoiced greatly when he saw one ofthese two adversaries ride a little apart, that he might the moreeasily observe the combat. He was assured that he would suffer nofelony at their hands. For their part the two knights were persuadedthat they had to do with an errant who had ridden to the ford for noother gain than honour and praise. The two adversaries took theirplaces within the lists. They lowered their lance, and covering theirbodies with the shield, smote fiercely together. So rude was the shockthat the staves of the spears were broken, and the strong destrierswere thrown upon their haunches. Neither of the good knights had losthis saddle. Each of the combatants got him to his feet, and drawingthe sword, pressed upon his fellow, till the blood began to flow. Whenthe knight who judged this quarrel saw their prowess, he came near,and commanded that the battle should cease. The adversaries drewapart, and struck no further blow with the sword. Right courteouslyand with fair words he spake to the prince. "Friend," said the knight,"get to your horse, and break a lance with me. Then we can go inpeace, for our time grows short. You must endure till the light become if you hope to gain the prize. Do your devoir, valiantly,for should you chance to be thrown in this course, or slain bymisadventure, you have lost your desire. None will ever hear of thisadventure; all your life you will remain little and obscure. Yourmaiden will be led away by the victor, seated on the good Castilianhorse you have gained by right of courage. Fight bravely. Thetrappings of the destrier are worth the spoil of a king's castle, andas for the horse himself he is the swiftest and the fairest in theworld. Be not amazed that I tell you of these matters. I have watchedyou joust, and know you for a hardy knight and a gallant gentleman.Besides I stand to lose horse and harness equally with you."
[Footnote 2: There is here some omission in the manuscript.]
The prince listened to these words, and accorded that the knight spokewisely and well. He would willingly have taken counsel of the maiden,but first, as surely he knew, he must joust with this knight. Hegathered the reins in his glove, and choosing a lance with an ashenstaff, opposed himself to his adversary. The combatants met togetherso fiercely that the lance pierced the steel of the buckler; yetneither lost stirrup by the shock. When the prince saw this he smotethe knight so shrewdly that he would have fallen from the saddle, hadhe not clung to the neck of his destrier. Of his courtesy the princepassed on, and refrained his hand until his enemy had recovered hisseat. On his return he found the knight full ready to continue hisdevoir. Each of the champions plucked forth his sword, and shelteredhim beneath his shield. They struck such mighty blows that thebucklers were hewn in pieces, but in spite of all they remained firmin the saddle. The maiden was aghast whilst she watched the melée. Shehad great fear for her friend, lest mischief should befall him, andshe cried loudly to the knight that, for grace, he should give overthis combat, and go his way. Very courteous was the knight, and meetlyschooled in what was due to maidens. He saluted the damsel, and,together with his companion, rode straightway from the ford. Theprince watched them pass for a little, then without further tarryinghe went swiftly to the maiden, where, all fearful and trembling, sheknelt beneath the thorn. The lady stood upon her feet as her loverdrew near. She climbed behind him on the saddle, for well she knewthat their pains were done. They fared so fast that when it was yetscarce day they came again to the palace. The King saw them approach,and rejoiced greatly at his son's prowess; but at this he marvelledmuch, that he should return with the daughter of the Queen.
The self-same day of this home-coming--as I have heard tell--the Kinghad summoned to Court his barons and vassals because of a certainquarrel betwixt two of his lords. This quarrel being accorded betweenthem, and come to a fair end, the King related to that blithe companythe story of this adventure. He told again that which you know, of howthe prince defended the Ford, of the finding of the maiden beneath thethorn, of the mighty joust, and of that white horse which was takenfrom the adversary.
The prince both then and thereafter caused the horse to be entreatedwith the greatest care. He received the maiden to wife, and cherishedher right tenderly. She, and the steed on which she would always ride,were his richest possessions. The destrier lived many years in muchhonour, but on a day when his master was taking the harness from hishead, he fell and died forthwith.
Of the story which has been set before you the Bretons wrought a Lay.They did not call the song the Lay of the Ford, although the adventuretook place at a river; neither have they named it The Lay of the TwoChildren. For good or ill the rhyme is known as the Lay of the Thorn.It begins well and endeth better, for these kisses find their fruitionin marriage.
